


Human

by Eccentric_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Drunken Confessions, Enochian (Supernatural), Enochian-Speaking Castiel (Supernatural), First Kiss, Fluff, Love Poems, M/M, Mutual Pining, Purple Prose most likely, Sam Winchester is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Grace/pseuds/Eccentric_Grace
Summary: Cas gets frustrated about his feelings and writes a love ramble in Enochian.Dean gets very drunk and decides to write one back, and is on a mission to reciprocate these feelings back to Cas, even if the letters are blurring on the page.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Human

Waves of shimmering emerald, fiercely piercing any gaze with practiced bravado and a sly grin. Those eyes; greener than the foam of an ocean or the moss on a tree, and yet more naturally beautiful than both of the two examples combined.

Those eyes would blink open slowly, with long eyelashes that made him look even more pulchritudinous in every sense of the word. They’d crinkle up as the sun would shine through the window and onto his face, illuminating the stubble and glow of his skin. 

But he’d smile nonetheless, because he was more content than ever, looking up at—

“Cas.” Dean snaps his fingers in front of his face. “You with me?”

Cas dumbly sits up, blinking at Dean as he returns to the present. He isn’t one for daydreaming, but it’s been more common lately, now that he has nicer things to daydream about. “Of course. Sorry, I was... thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦.

Castiel shakes his head. “No, it isn’t important. Nothing worth a penny.”

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸.

Dean looks at him carefully for a moment and shrugs. “Alright. Well, I’m gonna head to bed. Just wanted to ask if you were going to stay up and research?”

Cas looks down at the scattered books across the library table and nods grimly. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. Thanks.” Dean stands up from the table and stretches his arms up with a yawn. “Night.”

“Sleep well, Dean,” Cas adds sincerely, watching Dean wall out of the library and down the hall.

He turns to the old books and stares for a long moment, letting emotions roll over him until it seems like he’s drowning in his own head. Love seems to be at the center of it all; an emotion Cas knows enough about to understand that this what he’s going through.

The intensity of which he must protect the man, for example. It feels like it’s clawing at his throat sometimes, making it hard to breathe, but he would do anything for Dean’s safety and he knows it better than he knows the back of his hand.

The vehement fondness that he carries whenever Dean does very ordinary human things is another prime exemplar. Castiel knows full well that both Sam and Dean do silly things that are so very mortal, but Dean manages to do them in a way that can’t help but make Castiel grin with such devotion and warmth.

Devotion was another thing all together. Castiel has, and would do all over again if given the choice, left everything he knew because of Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean. The human that had little to give, or so Heaven had tried to convince him.

But Castiel has grown a lot since the days where he followed his feathered colleagues. He’s made mistakes, he’s learned many things from many sides, and he knows now that Dean has everything to offer, because Dean is his everything.

This particular thought causes Cas to let out a frustrated groan, because of course the one thing he wants more than life itself is the one thing he shouldn’t dream to have. 

With all of these words, all of these feelings, bubbling and stretching and twisting around like a messily knitted jumper, Castiel does the first thing he can think of. He grabs a nearby pen and starts scribbling madly on the first blank paper he finds.

He must look so human, hunched over a library desk and furiously scratching a pen over a postit note with furrowed eyebrows and a deep glare. Although, he definitely wasn’t human, and the intense emotion and speed of which he acted made him resort to writing in hasty Enochian.

He doesn’t quite know what he writes. The letters blur on the page, probably due to the angry tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Castiel inhales deeply and puts the pen down.

“I can’t have you,” Cas mutters with a dark painting of pity and self-annoyance. “Damn it. I can’t. I wish I could get that through my numb skull.”

He stares down at the paper and crumples it in his fists without a second’s hesitation, listening to the material crackle as it’s sharply and forcibly collapsed. He tosses the note behind him, not bothering to look if it even made it in the trash can.

The next morning, Dean finds him at the library table, his cheek pressed against a book and quietly snoring. He’s woken up, they go back to work, and days continue like normal.

It’s a week later when Sam finds the note crumpled behind the trash can while he’s cleaning up the library. Like anybody would be, he was intrigued. It doesn’t take long to find an Enochian translation book in the Men of Letters library, so Sam gets started on decrypting the thing within the hour he found it.

Out of all things he expected the note to be, a love poem was not one of them. He expected notes on the case. A grocery list, maybe. But not this.

It was lovely, no doubt written from Cas to Dean, but it was heartbreaking. The whole thing was written in such desperation. From the way there isn’t a pause between each letter and the way the paper is indented from the pressure of pen used by the authour.

Then there was the fact that the note itself had been found behind a trash can and aggressively crumpled up, which spoke for itself on what emotion was most likely felt whenever this was written.

Sam has a multitude of questions, of course. The date of it being written, for one. Castiel has been acting normal lately, so has he been hiding the fact that he‘s been so upset all this time? 

He continues thinking down that path and wonders if they’ve ever seen Castiel really, truly happy, and that’s what finally gets him concerned enough to stand up and walk down to the angel’s room.

He knocks on the door lightly, holding the note in his hand. “Cas?”

“Dean?”

Sam slowly opens the door and smiles awkwardly. “Nope. Sorry.”

Castiel gives a shrug, not looking particularly angry or upset. His narrows his eyes as his gaze wanders to Sam’s hand. “Why do you have that?”

Sam hesitates before stepping inside the room and closing the door. “Right. I’m sorry. It was behind the trash can. I shouldn’t have gone translating it, but... Are you okay?”

He’s never seen the angel look defensive, but now, Cas was standing up and looking as though he was either about to fight or flee. Sam saw how his shoulders were tense and his eyes carried a blur of hopelessness and fear.

“Of course I’m okay, Sam. That note—It doesn’t mean anything to you. Just throw it out.”

Sam fights the urge to roll his eyes, and instead just frowns deeply. He steps forward and crosses his arms. “Listen, man. You like Dean, don’t you?”

Castiel blinks at him and slowly nods. “...Yes. I do.”

“Okay.” Sam nods back. “Okay, that’s great. So why was this thrown out?”

“Because—“ Cas gives him a sad smile that fades from his face almost immediately, as if he was too emotionally drained to even pretend to fake anything. “I can’t, Sam.”

Castiel’s voice was much gruffer and quieter than it normally was, like his spirit was being weighed down just as much as his heart was. His shoulders sagged, making him look vulnerable and honest and sad.

It was eye opening in the worst way, to watch his friend genuinely act like himself for what may be the first time, and to have the result be just a hollow shell. Castiel was so tired, worn down, enervated and more burnt out than the candles they found when they first moved into the bunker.

Sam could see it now; and he didn’t like it one bit. Further more, he knows for a fact that if he doesn’t like it, Dean would hate to see him like this. Whatever the reason Cas had for hiding this, it couldn’t have been worth it.

“I know I can't,” Castiel explains after a beat. “I know I can’t, because Dean Winchester has never given me a second glance. And that’s okay. I love him more than anything, even if the way he’s comfortable with me expressing it is just with our friendship.”

Sam doesn’t say a word in response, but he thinks back to many of the conversations he’s had with Dean himself. The man was obviously just as in love with Cas, even if he had a funny way of showing it. He was defensive about that sort of thing, or at least, with Cas specifically, and Sam couldn’t ever understand why so he just left it alone.

Now, Sam was just silent, listening to Castiel’s more open side to the story. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was like listening to a story unfold right in front of him, like everything was suddenly making sense about the two enigmas he had been living with for years.

“But... When I wrote that, I was frustrated. I—I try to manage these feelings in very tight box,” Cas continues. “And sometimes it gets to be too much. I just—I needed—“

“I understand,” Sam interrupts before Cas can choke on his own tongue. “Don’t worry about it, Cas.”

Castiel nods again, looking down at the ground. “You should throw the note away,” he says quietly.

“If that’s really what you want.”

“It is.”

“Okay.”

Sam leaves the room, and the crumpled paper is returned properly into the trash can. He keeps an eye on both of the other two for the next few days, hopefully trying to notice any positive developments in their dynamic.

But nothing happens.

Until the paper, crumpled and hidden under beer bottles in the bin, somehow finds its way back onto the floor. Dean was only trying to take out the trash, really, but he was a bit tipsy and accidentally stumbled on one of the steps, causing the bin to go flying across the room.

It’s the symbols that catch his eye. They weren’t delicate in the slightest, scratched on the paper in what must have been a sprint of the hand. He reaches for the note and unfolds it, finding the neat translation Sam had written underneath all of it.

Dean’s chest tightens and he freezes up, staring down at the writing as his brain tries to frantically process a multitude of different thoughts. He can feel the buzz of whatever he drank before wear off, leaving him alone with the stressful rapidness of his heartbeat.

He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that Castiel is just down the hallway, sitting in his room doing whatever ex-angel’s do in their free time. Sam had left to get groceries, which was lucky for him, because then he wouldn’t have to witness the clownery about to unfold.

Firstly, Dean needs another drink. He goes to the kitchen in a haze of movement, and he’s drunk before he even knows it. 

Then, it’s a sped up movie of him doing something or other, the alcohol really is making things fuzzy, his limbs feel loose and warm and his only goal is to reciprocate Cas’s heartfelt declaration.

Sam comes back from the grocery store to find Dean sobbing loudly over the library table, a pencil held limply in his hand as he poured over a book. Not two, not three, but five bottles of beer were on the table beside him. Sam thinks two of them aren’t even fully empty.

Needless to say, he was reasonably concerned for his older brother.

Sam drops the grocery bags and walks over to him quickly. “Dean?”

Dean swirls around in the chair, and sobs even more. “Sammy, y’u got’ help’m.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam scoffs. He looks at the thrown out note on the table. He was almost fearful; until he sees an Enochian translation book as well as several papers spread out of the table.

The papers range from half written Enochian characters to very childish and scribbled doodles of Castiel, Castiel’s eyes—Salad—?

Sam barks out a confused laugh. “Dean, what the hell were you doing?”

“C’you r—rrrr—re-read this?” Dean holds a paper out.

Sam takes the paper and looks over it with narrowed eyes. “Dean, this is in Enochian. No, I can’t read it. What are you up to?”

Dean doesn’t answer, snatching the paper back with a hand that just barely hit the target, almost missing the paper completely and grabbing at air. He stands up and heads down the hall without another word.

Sam sighs deeply, watching him shoulder the doorway as he stumbles out of the library. He shakes his head and takes the grocery bags into the kitchen to put them away.

Meanwhile, Dean slips the note under Castiel’s door and knocks heavily before quickly scurrying away. He watches from behind a corner, but Cas doesn’t open the door. 

(It doesn’t occur to Dean that he wouldn’t need to open the door when he had slipped the note under the doorway, but it also doesn’t occur to Dean what a terrible way to reciprocate his feelings this was to begin with.)

Dean, now exhausted from everything that just transpired, then falls asleep. He’s still sitting in the middle of the hallway, but he’s too drunk and tired to care.

Down the hall, the note is picked up by curious hands. It was unusual for any of them to bother Cas unless for movie nights, dinners, or other family activities, and something like a simple note slipped under his doorway was unorthodox. 

He raises his eyebrows once he realizes that the note is written in Enochian, but furrows them with confusion once he realizes that the writing is all... backwards?

Cas takes the note over to his desk and sits down, staring at it for a very long time. He could read it with little difficulty, but it did take a moment. 

After all, Enochian was a fragile language that didn’t always translate perfectly to English. This was even more present when the print was even sloppier than Cas could write on a bad day. But more than that, the contents of this note were, simply put, baffling.

“ass, yur eys lik ocean see with blur, yoe eat burger like me, salad without Sam, love yu, pleas giv me kitsgh -sined Dean”

Cas reads the note, letting out a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a scoff, because it truly was a ridiculous note. And yet, his heart was pounding in his chest.

He reads it again. 

He blinks, now not sure what to feel at all.

Castiel has experienced many emotions over the years, but none of them have quite fit the mold of whatever was blossoming in his chest at this very moment.

It must have been an amalgamation of feelings. Happiness, lighter than the multitude of feathers he used to carry on his back, that bubbled and twisted at his heart at the same time. Amusement, because the confession was so eccentric, even to Dean’s standards.

But there were feelings much deeper than that woven into the quilt. Feelings that couldn’t be given an understandable word, but rather a description in many words that didn’t match up like they were supposed to. 

Sticky sweet longing that clung to the inside of his ribcage, warmth of adoration and loyalty and desperation all working together to melt the ice shields he put up to keep his heart from pounding too fast, and they were now finally dripping down to nurture the blossoming of something new, like how Winter melts into Spring.

And finally, everything seemed to puzzle and knit itself together just right, and Castiel felt a sense of peace that he’s never known before. He would describe it as if he was meeting something he should have known for a long time but never got the chance to. 

With that particular definition, Cas could easily relate it to when he lost his grace for the first time, and he had to experience Earth as a human. 

Yes, this was it. Castiel felt so human, but it was in the most lovely and extraordinary way that he had to grin widely just so his joy wouldn’t seep through the scars on his heart and create sunbeams that would surely be seen from space.

He clutched the note a little tighter in his hands, smiling up at the ceiling, knowing true contentment. He doesn’t know if he could do much more than that. 

Cas must have been there for several hours, smiling at the ceiling while lost in his own hedgemaze of a brain, because when he finally sat up again to go talk to Dean, the clock read that it was morning.

Not that Castiel thought that the time mattered too much. After all, it wasn’t such an unreasonably early time, and this has been playing in his thoughts for the past few hours since he got the note.

And Dean—Well, Dean keeps surprising him. 

Castiel finds him passed out sitting against a wall while on the way to the man’s room. He’s immediately concerned, going to his side and gently shaking him awake. “Dean?”

Dean snorts as he wakes up, looking up at Cas sleepily. He blinks dotingly at him. “Morning, Cas.”

“Yes, um...” Cas nods slowly. “Good morning. Is there a reason you’re sleeping in the hall?”

“I’m sure there is one,” Dean yawns, sitting up to stretch. He squints against the lights. “I think I blacked out last night, though, so your guess is as good as mine.”

Castiel hesitates and debates whether or not he should put Dean’s note back in his pocket at this information, forgetting everything all together, but he knows at this point he’s too far gone to go back to the way things were before.

He slowly takes the note out of his pocket. “While blackout drunk, I believe you... wrote me something.”

Dean looks back up at him, looking almost guilty before he takes the note from his hand. He raises an eyebrow at the writing. “I don’t write in—This is Enochian, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it say?” Dean asks.

“It—“ Castiel frowns at him, tilting his head to the left. “Do you really not remember?”

“Cas,” Dean says lowly. “What did I tell you?”

Castiel stares at him for a long moment and then sighs, feeling dejected. He begins to speak carefully, making sure every word if exactly what he wants to say. 

“You wrote a poem of some sorts, Dean,” Cas starts. “It revealed some rather, personal ideas, per say, about me.”

“And it made me... very happy.” The corner of his mouth can’t help but quick into a smile, and he looks down from Dean’s gaze. His eyes crinkle at the edges with glee.

“Cas. What are you saying?” Dean asks slowly. 

𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘩𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳.

“I love you,” Cas breathes, and he feels lighter than he’s ever felt in his thousands-of-centuries-long life. He grins brightly and says it again, just to feel the shiver up his spine for a second time. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“Cas,” Dean repeats, quieter this time. He’s never sounded so vulnerable to Castiel’s ears. He clears his throat. “This is a hell of a wake up call.”

“I needed you to know. This is more important to me than anything, Dean. I—I owe it to you. Especially after this.” Cas holds up the note. “I thought you felt the same way. And it’s really okay, if you don’t, truly, because this right here, this feeling of not keeping it from you anymore is the most amazing I’ve ever had, an—“

Dean silences him with a gentle kiss to the lips. He may as well have hotwired Castiel’s brain.

It’s a rush of information that Cas has never been given before. He’s been kissed before, sure, but nothing was as perfect and blissful as this. Dean’s lips weren’t chapped, they were smooth and warm, tasting sour like the alcohol he had drunken the night before.

It was addicting. Even the gentle clash of teeth made Cas feel alive, like he was just as buzzed as the bees pollinating the flowers outside. Kissing Dean was everything he imagined it to be, like electricity and warmth, like blood and bone, Spring and Winter, sun and rain.

More than anything else though, it was human. The word seems to crop up frequently, and Castiel can’t even complain, especially when Dean is pulling him in greedily for a second kiss, a third one, and he willingly complies.

Human, from the light bursting in Castiel’s chest, on his tongue, in his brain. Human, from the push and the pull of Dean’s lips. Human, from the pure love radiating from every fiber of both of their beings, just for the moment, as notes were discarded on the floor for something better to explore.

Castiel wakes up later that evening to green eyes blinking up at him. Those eyes; greener than the foam of an ocean or the moss on a tree, and yet more naturally beautiful than both of the two examples combined.

Dean gives him a grin and wraps an arm around his torso, pulling him closer and kissing his shoulder. He was beautiful, and he was happy.

And just like the way an angel would fall from the sky, Castiel feels himself falling all over again. But happier this time.

Human.


End file.
